


Say My Name

by walkydeads



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Names, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, moaning kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkydeads/pseuds/walkydeads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an askbox prompt on tumblr, 'moaning each others names'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say My Name

Daryl wasn’t really used to anybody saying his name.

His mama used to, sometimes, but that was long before she started breathing whiskey. Long before she fell asleep with a cigarette. The least hurtful of the names Merle had for him were ‘little brother’ and ‘kiddo’ and, if Daryl was particularly lucky, not much else was said. And his father… well. He can’t ever really remember being called anything by his father. That would’ve required being noticed in the first goddamn place.

Even when they arrive at camp, most of the inhabitants are all to eager to write him and his brother off as a couple dopey rednecks. The Dixons. It was always The Dixons. As if they were a fucking married couple or some shit. If anyone at camp ever called him Daryl it was because they wanted him to tell his brother to fuck off. He was the only one that ever could reign Merle in. And he usually got called a bitch or worse for his efforts.

But then, there was Glenn.

Glenn Rhee didn’t have an unkind word for anyone. He arrived in T-Dog’s church van with him about two days after the brunt of all that shit had gone down and the sherrif guy with a woman and kid and the old fart with the RV and the blondes and a few other cars had showed up. Daryl didn’t pay much attention to people outside his direct line of vision. But he sure paid attention to Glenn.

In the beginning, it was only because the kid was so goddamn unerringly nice. He fought to get people the right to stay in the camp if Shane started to worry about them being ‘too full’. He’d make extra runs into the city if Shane was being extra pissy about it. He knew every single person in that camp by name and he brought all of them something back to make them feel at home. Especially the kids. Daryl kinda wished he had someone like that growing up. Not that it particularly mattered now, but still.

Upon arriving at the camp, Glenn’s gift to Daryl had been bolts. Nice ones with reflective fletching so he could find them early morning or in the dark. His gift to Merle had been a pocket knife. Merle had complained for days about how much nicer Daryl’s gift had been than his own, and while it was kind of annoying, it made Daryl swell with pride. He’d been given something nice for pretty much the first time in his life.

If that had been it, he probably could’ve pushed it to the back of his mind.

Everyone else called him Dixon. The blonde girls would walk the opposite way if they saw him coming, even without Merle. And he had overheard Shane’s lady telling her son not to talk to him unless he had no choice. But Glenn…

Glenn called him Daryl. 

It was such a small thing, but it felt so good. At least once a day, Glenn would pass by and say ‘Hi, Daryl,’ and it would make his fucking day. He had loved the way his name sounded on his mama’s lips, like something fragile and beloved. It sounded different on Glenn’s, more sturdy and sure. But the important thing was, it felt like it had value. Inherent value. Like Daryl being Daryl was enough for Glenn to acknowledge it, even in passing.

This was still something of a foreign concept to Daryl, but he was working on getting comfortable with it.

Of course, he was waiting for the novelty of the camp to wear off. For Glenn to settle in and find a small knit group of people that he got along with best and sort of brush everyone else to the side. But it never happened. Or if it did, it never happened to Daryl. Glenn still always had a greeting for him. Often asked him how he was or if he needed anything when he was going on a run.

It wasn’t completely unnatural, then, for Daryl to want to hear his name more. To go out of his way to hear it. To say hello first, to call Glenn’s name across camp and wait for a response in the form of his own name. And it wasn’t really even unnatural for him to want that pleasant voice to moan his name every once and a while. He’d gotten to the point where he could imagine it pretty well; Glenn on his back with Daryl fucking him open or with his head between Glenn’s legs sucking him down, making him whine.

Daryl, Daryl, Daryl.

As much as he wanted the moaning and groaning and whimpers of his name, he’d never thought he’d get it. He was too chickenshit to initiate anything and for all he knew the   
apocalypse wasn’t doing the same thing to everyone else’s sexuality that it was apparently doing to his.

But things have a weird way of working themselves out.

He was supposed to be hunting, figured following the stream that led into the quarry a ways back would help him find something, or at least something’s tracks. He’d already nabbed two or three squirrels by the time he’d ventured far enough for the sound of running water to be a faint dribble in his ear.

At first, he thought his hearing was maybe a little fucked up. Maybe he was hearing himself panting. Maybe it was the sound of the water against rocks. He didn’t know for sure. But then there was an actual grunt - low and contained but very much human - and he knew what he heard. 

Daryl stooped low to the ground, immediately assuming it to be a walker. He walked in measured steps, careful of twigs and dry leaves along his path. He drew and readied his crossbow. Careful. Quiet.

"Oh… oh, fuck."

Well. That was most definitely not a walker, then. Though he supposed it could still be someone in pain. He only hoped he hadn’t walked in on Shane fucking his woman again.  
"Oh god, yes… please," well shit. Daryl knew that voice. Had heard it say please at least a hundred times. For being the apocalypse and everything, and everyone pretty much being as good as starved without him, the kid was never impolite. Even now he was begging.

Why did Daryl like the sound of that so much? And why, despite knowing the source of the noise and who it was coming from, did he continue to creep closer, slow and silent?

He was surprised his heart didn’t give him away simply with how it was pounding in his chest. He bit back a moan of his own as he rounded a thick of shrubs, and there he was.  
Glenn was sat up against a tree, his baseball cap discarded at his side, his legs kicked up, cock out, a baseball bat to his left and easily within his reach. His eyes were closed and the look on his face was nothing short of pure bliss. Or as close as you can get to bliss in the face of the goddamn world ending, anyway.

"Daryl," he moaned, and Daryl froze. Fuck, he thought. How did he see me? But then it happened again.

"Oh god, Daryl."

"Yeah Daryl, just like that."

It made his head spin and his blood feel like steam escaping through his pores. He felt torn in a million different directions at once. He wanted to run back to camp. He wanted to cry for fucking the kid up like this. He wanted to beat the kid up for fucking him up like this. He wanted to throw his shit down, crawl over there, and beg to suck Glenn’s cock. So much so he was practically drooling.

When the kid’s hips hitched up - a futile attempt to fuck his own hand deeper, Daryl thought, breathless - he lost it. The next thing he knew, his crossbow, his extra arrows, his squirrels were all strewn across the forest floor as he crouched in front of Glenn.

Who, by the way, didn’t even have the good sense to look ashamed. A little startled, yes, but not even enough so to stop pulling on his own cock. “Are you real?” he whispered, his eyes bleary, and Daryl shuddered.

"Fuck, kid. I don’t know. Are you?"

"Shit, I," Glenn jolted a bit, "I’m sorry, it’s just."

"No," Daryl said, all but crawling towards him, "Let me."

He gently knocked Glenn’s hand out of the way and replaced it with his own. He’d never touched a cock that wasn’t his before - at least not on purpose - and prayed he’d do alright, leaning forward until his forehead was touching Glenn’s. “Go on,” he encouraged softly, “Long as you’re gonna call out my name I might as well give you a reason.”

"Daryl," Glenn gasped, scrabbling at his shoulders, as his hips gave tiny, shuddery thrusts towards his fist, "Daryl, I… fuck. Fuck me. Please."

"How much time do we have?" Daryl asked, knowing it was a foolish question. He was often gone for days at a time hunting and if Glenn didn’t show up everyone would probably just assume he was on another run. Strictly speaking, they had all the time in the world.

"Not enough," Glenn groaned, and Daryl figured that was also an acceptable answer.

"On your knees," Daryl said after only the most minimal internal debate. They were all pretty much fucked anyways. He wasn’t going to turn down a chance to hear this pretty, sweet voice call out his name a bit more.

Even so, he was surprised by the speed with which Glenn complied, sitting up and sliding out of Daryl’s grip easily, shifting his pants down a bit more and bracing his arms against the tree in front of him. “My jacket pocket,” Glenn told him, already a bit breathless, and Daryl didn’t have to think twice about what Glenn was referring to. 

The oil in his pocket was just canola oil. It wasn’t much or perfect, but it would work. Without much ceremony, Daryl doused a finger with it, sliding it over Glenn’s entrance, feeling the muscles relax under his touch before sliding it in. Almost all the way. Glenn didn’t so much as hiss in objection. Already ready for more. Daryl admired that. So did his cock, he noted, which was still currently trapped in his jeans but trying desperately to rub against the back of Glenn’s thigh regardless.

By the third finger he was whimpering, but not Daryl’s name which was honestly hugely disappointing. He shoved Glenn a bit further up against the tree as he removed his fingers, all but tore his jeans open and lubed and lined up his cock. As he slid in, Glenn grunted and grabbed at his wrists with all his might.

"Fuck," Glenn whispered once Daryl was all the way inside of him, "I… fuck."

Daryl’s eyes had slipped closed in the meantime, reveling in the sensation of something so tight with a sinful voice like that wrapped around his cock. He ground down a few times, searching for Glenn’s sweet spot, but he came up empty handed. Slowly, he just slid in and out, which ended up being more than satisfactory for the younger party.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, "Yeah, that’s it."

Daryl felt stupid for still wanting Glenn to say his name. He was literally balls deep in the kid, but somehow he felt like hearing his name was the point of it all. Not the satisfaction so much as someone recognizing that he was capable of providing it. So stupid… he closed his eyes.

Glenn clenched around him and moaned softly. “Daryl?” he called over his shoulder, rebalancing himself against the trunk of the tree.

"Please," Daryl all but sobbed, his hands shaking against Glenn’s hips and his own hips desperate to twitch up and claim more of him, "Please say my name more."

"Like how I was before?" Glenn asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah."

Glenn ground back onto Daryl’s dick as he contemplated what to say, making Daryl’s hips rock back to meet his more and more frantically. Daryl hit something that had Glenn calling out his name almost involuntarily, and Daryl shuddered with the relief of it.

"Yes, Daryl, that feels so fucking good," Glenn moaned, and Daryl knew that he was putting on a show to an extent, but it was still nice to hear. "Fuck me harder, Daryl, as hard as you want. Oh god, fuck, Daryl. I want to have marks I can look down at tomorrow. I want to touch them and think of you and get hard all over again."

Daryl grabbed at his hips frantically, bruising, and drove himself into Glenn repeatedly, more and more frantic with each passing second and each seductive purr of his name coming from Glenn’s lips. He bit down on Glenn’s shoulder to muffle his own cries, mainly because he wants to hear his own name fall from those lips.

"Daryl, I’m… I’m gonna…" Glenn’s voice had risen in pitch as he rode Daryl for all he could, losing his balance and resting his hands in the dirt beneath him, "Oh please… please, please, please."

Daryl reached around and gave his cock a couple tugs before detaching his teeth from Glenn’s shoulder. After only a few seconds of hesitation, he leaned forward and whispered, “Cum for me,” in his ear.

Seconds later, Glenn did, covering the tree and the dirt and Daryl’s hand and Daryl brought the release to his mouth to taste without a second thought. It was odd, but he liked it. Enough that with only a handful more thrusts, he too feels orgasm overtake him; the toe-curling, white-flashing kind that is so good it’s hard to put into words.

They come down rather typically from there, Daryl’s face buried in Glenn’s shoulder and Glenn breathing in big, satisfied gulps of air. He leaned further into Daryl’s touch and Daryl kept holding him up

"I should get something embroidered for you," Glenn said absentmindedly, "You’d probably like that, wouldn’t you. Something that belonged to you and just you."

"Yeah," Daryl replied, rubbing his sweaty forehead on Glenn’s t-shirt. "Fuck, Glenn…"

"Just for the record," Glenn said, a bit of teasing creeping into his voice, "I like it when you say my name, too."


End file.
